Tag: creepy

I live in a decently large town just outside of Niagara Falls. Crime isn’t very common on my side of town, but the east side has seen murder and rape. I used to live on the east side of town. It wasn’t pretty, so my family and I moved out to a nice suburban area on the west side.

I was home alone on a warm summer day, maybe 75 degrees. Anyways, I was outside doing some housework as I was instructed the previous night. Just as I was finishing up cutting the grass, a man walked on to my driveway. I looked at him, and asked him if he needed anything. He paused, and just.. jogged away. I brushed it off as nothing and went inside.

Later that night I walked down the street to my local corner store. I walked inside and saw the man again. I felt chills down my spine as he approached me. He said in a raspy voice “You really know how to use a lawn mower!” I thought nothing of it and just replied with a smile. He looked at me and smiled back. Things got awkward. Quick. I said I needed to leave and he blocked my path. “Are your parents home?” He said grinning. I responded yeah they are. I was lying. He didn’t say a word, but I said “is there something you want?” He just stared. To my luck, the cashier came out and told him not to block the exit. He then proceeded down the junk food aisle. I got out of there faster than hell with my eyes as big as marbles. I ran home like a bag caught on a gust of strong wind

Later that evening I decided to take a nap. I fell asleep quickly, not remembering the incident that happened earlier. I woke up to a banging on my door at around 1:30 in the morning. I almost shit the bed. It was on the back door. I looked out the window. Nothing. I thought it might’ve been a friend or a neighbor needing help. I was naive and I clearly wasn’t thinking. Why would my friend or anyone for that matter be here so late? And why were they in my LOCKED backyard?

I ran downstairs and turned on the backyard light. Big mistake. It was the man from earlier. I jumped back and shrieked at the top of my lungs. Wrong move again. He rammed his elbow into the door and popped it off the hinges. I tried calling 911. No service. I yelled and told him I was calling the police anyways. He outsmarted me and realized my phone wasn’t glowing when I pretended to call them. He then proceeded to push the door forward, further breaking it. I was crying by this point, and I ran upstairs. I heard the man break inside. I check my phone again. ONE BAR! I WAS SO RELIEVED! I dialed 911 immediately and they told me to stay on the line. The man then proceeded to yell “YOU LIED YOU FUCKER! YOU LIED ABOUT YOUR PARENTS!” I climbed in the compartment in the back of my closet and shut it. You could smell the fear on my sweaty body, shaking as he walked in. He started banging on everything. This man was not stable, in my eyes at least. He ran downstairs looking for me, as I hear sirens pulling up to my house. The man runs, and doesn’t make it too far as they see him casually leaving the property.

The police questioned me and later charged this man. As it turns out, he wasn’t stable. He had some weird illness that to this day I still can’t pronounce. I am now 21 and living happily, but always remembering that this man. This sick, crazed man.. never plead guilty.. so he’s still out there. Probably looking for me. I live in the same house.. (Read request made for Blue_Spooky)

I live in Massachusetts and I enjoy an activity called Live Action Roleplaying. If you’re not familiar with it, imagine spending a weekend immersed in a made-up universe, playing a character you invented. It’s like long term improv or theater if you think about it. It’s really just amazing.

The place I go to is a medieval fantasy themed universe. That being said, we were in the forest with no electronics and the only lights came from candles or the two large campfires which were on opposite sides of the grounds. At that time, I played a noble who had a lot of functions in game.

Generally, I wore a fancy dark green dress laced with a trace of gold around the sleeves and the large hood it bore.

There was one evening that was actually very confusing and thinking about it gives me chills.

So, one night, the people who animated the event had decided to make a masked ball. I had brought with me a beautiful dark green lace mask ornated with gold that matched my dress. I had bought it in venice when I had the chance to have a student exchange in Italy. I had never worn it until that night.

It was a very cloudy night, so we couldn’t see the moon or the stars. Needless to say it was very dark.

Everyone gathered around the campfire and the animators started the music (since they orhcestrated the whole event, sometimes, they would use soundboxes and such to make events more immersive) and it was a three-stroke waltz.

At that time, I had absolutely no idea how to dance to a three-stroke waltz, even if it is the easiest dance in the world.

One of my friends had given me a bit of prior training as we were putting our costumes on; everyone had brought a fancier outfit for that night, because usually, since there were many battles and such, people dressed very much like medieval peasants, depending on what style they went for. Since I was a noble woman, I always dressed a little fancier. I didn’t change for that evening, because it wasn’t necessary.

Everyone paired up and I watched, sitting by the fire, mesmerized at how amazing it looked to see people dancing.

Soon enough, a man approached me.

He was wearing a full mask and I didn’t recognize his build. He was neither a player nor was he one of the animators. I know these people; most of them, I went to college with. Him, though, I didn’t know at all.

I brushed it off and figured it was a new player that could only make it to the event that evening.

“Would you care to dance with me?” He asked me in a deep voice. He was holding a hand out to me, waiting for me to grab it.

“I’m not really good at dancing.” I say, a little intimidated.

I was a bit creeped out by his mask, although it was very nice looking.

A full-face harlequin mask; it was black and burgundy with a diamond shaped pattern layered all over it, separated by lines of gold.

Now, usually, in La Commedia Dell’arte, Harlequin’s mask is brown and his clothes have red, green and gold triangular or diamond shaped patterns all over, but I still recognized the character’s mask from the mischevious expression plastered onto it.

“Just follow my lead. After all, in a waltz, the man leads the dance.”

I finally agree on sharing one dance with him. It was rather enjoyable, since he took his time to show me where to put my hands and how to move my feet. He even encouraged me to relax.

Throughout the whole thing, I had no idea who’s voice it was. It really bugged me. Everything about him seemed bizarre. Unusual.

He kept suggesting we should go take a walk in the forest, further away from the crowd, but every time, I refused. It was dark in the forest and I didn’t know him and my character was known to be scared of the dark, even if I, as a person, don’t mind it at all. Still, since I didn’t know him, even I, Melody, the real person behind the character, wouldn’t have followed him. Something didn’t feel right.

When the waltz ended, I thanked him, he bowed at me and walked into the crowd of people who had started chatting.

I figured I’d try and find him later in the evening. I always like roleplaying with all sorts of people. It’s fun.

But I never found him.

The evening went on and there was no trace of him anywhere. I asked around and none of the other players said it.

I even described his mask exactly and no one recalled having seen such a mask.

For the sake of the evening, I brushed it off, joking that I had danced with a ghost.

Fast-forward to the end of the weekend. Everyone was packing up what was on the grounds and we were all chatting, so I asked.

“Who did I dance with, saturday night?”

No one spoke up.

Everyone looked at one another, rather dumbfounded.

“Was there a late arrival?” I asked the animators.

They all told me there couldn’t have been a player who would have arrived that evening because all the animators were in game; they weren’t at their spot where they put their costumes on and such; all of them were with the players, in character. Absolutely no one was out-game.

That suddenly chilled me even more than it did earlier.

My mind suddenly traced back to that night. How he had kept suggesting to go for a walk in the forest where there wasn’t anybody so we could talk…

I kept getting these bizarre vibes from him, but at the time, I just figured it was the excitement. I loved the idea of a masked ball.

But what if he was a man with intentions I don’t want to think about?

I’m so grateful for the fact I refused to follow him. I can’t begin to imagine what could have happened.

Maybe he was a good guy, but there was a chance he wasn’t. And I’d rather not find out which it is.

Once when I was young, my grandma, who I called Nanny, told my friends a creepy story one dark July night. It was a story she said her neighbor, and one of my friend’s moms, had told her and she claimed it to be true. Real quick, to give you an idea of how close this neighborhood was in my childhood I’ll give a brief layout. My dad’s parents lived in a dumbbell shaped cul-de-sac in my extremely tiny hometown. All the houses are set up a few feet apart lining the entire road and we all greeted each other by name. It was that kind of town. There were no strangers in my Kentucky place of birth growing up which is why this tale was, and still is, so chilling.

I was 7 or 8 back in the mid nineties and part of the last few generations to remember a time before home computers and cell phones were a staple. Swimming, biking, and telling scary stories on my Nanny’s front porch under the eerie glow of an orange street lamp was some of our favorite things to do when I visited. This was one I never forgot. After begging her to tell us another, Nanny obliged lighting up a cigarette. She exhaled and said: Rosie told me something weird the other day. She told me she was up late one night watching TV in the living room when she heard a knock at the door. It was about midnight or somewhere in there, so she went to the door thinking one of us might be in trouble.

Just for reference, most of these houses had French doors with decorative glass panes you could semi-see out of and another glass or screen door on the outside. Back to the story.:

Rosie said when she came to the door, she was surprised to see someone she didn’t recognize waiting on the other side and cautiously opened the front door leaving the screen door locked. She described the caller as a young, petite woman with pale skin and long, black hair that covered her face. The woman was standing on her front step bare foot, in a white gown, her head bowed so her hair covered her entire face, and her hands clasped at her stomach with upturned palms. (Picture a child being scolded and standing in shame. I personally imagine a taller Sumara from The Ring.)

Then, my Nanny demonstrated the posture which made the story all the more chilling.
We were all silent at this point waiting nervously for her to continue as she paused to take a drag from her cancer stick. She picked back up saying: Rosie said she opened the door and asked the girl if she needed help to which the girl only replied in a flat, emotionless voice, “May I come in and use your phone?” To Rosie, there were several things wrong with this picture. First, the stranger wanted access to her home with no explanation other than to use her phone. The girl seemingly came out of nowhere, she was in a nightgown alone in the late hours of night, and she said “may I” instead of “can I”. We lived in the South on the border of Tennessee; you didn’t say “may I”.

Rosie was NOT about to let this woman into her house, but she didn’t want to leave her alone in case she really did need help. So, she tried to learn more about her situation by asking questions like “What’s wrong? Are you lost or hurt?” But, the girl only answered in the same flat tone, “I need to come into your house. Please let me use your phone.” Never once did the stranger look up or offer to move in any way.

Again, she asked, “Do you need to call a ride? Or the police?” but she was met with the same response of, “No. I need to come inside your house.” Finally, Rosie told her she can’t come in but she could hand her the house phone to call someone. Now, my Nanny’s friend had a table against the wall wherr her phone sat, so all she had to do was turn around for a split second. However, when she turned back to the door the girl was gone. She had vanished as if she had never been there at all. Nanny said Rosie checked outside and found no one. There was nowhere for someone to go! The cul-de-sac had one road in and out on the other side, it was surrounded by sparse woods on Rosie’s side and thick woods on Nanny’s side, and a short drop-off with a little creek to the right ending the neighborhood. In other words, she would have heard even bare feet running no matter which direction she went.

As Nanny put out her smoke, we girls, three in total, asked if it was true and she shrugged saying she didn’t see a reason her friend would lie about it. My grandma was the kind to pull your leg every now and then but she always admitted to it since lying wasn’t in her Christian nature. She never once admitted to this one being a tall tale. That night, we had a sleepover in her living room and I watched that damn door all night waiting for a strange black haired girl to knock. It never happened, of course, yet I’ve often wondered who or WHAT she was and what she really wanted. Was she a ghost, a demon, a vampire, a black-eyed person, a skinwalker, or a real person with bad intentions? One thing’s for sure. To this day, I wait for the night she knocks on my door – real or not.

About two years ago, while I was attending university in Virginia, my roommate and I got tickets to go see Skillet in Richmond, 2 hours from campus.

The concert was on a Sunday night, so after the amazing time that left our voices so hoarse we sounded like the chipmunks, we had to start the 2 hour drive back to campus. Mind you, this was during the height of those killer clown psychos, and we had been warned there were a few spotted in Richmond during the time we’d be there, but we didnt care.

It was skillet, the tickets were $30, and it was skillet.

The concert had let out a little after midnight, the streets were deserted, foggy, and we had to walk 4 blocks to the garage where my car was parked.

Now, both of us are female and relatively short, with her being on the slimmer side and me a bit thicker. But we both know how to defend ourselves and I carry a knife with me, so we weren’t too concerned about making the walk to the car in silent hill territory.

As we get half way to the garage we notice all of the other groups that were walking around us were gone, already at their cars.

We then start joking about the street lights flickering, my roommate said they were flickering because the void where my soul should have been (I’m a ginger) needed to feed on the light.

It’s then that I notice someone up ahead under one of the flickering lights. I elbow my roommate and gesture at the person and we cross the street.

Just because we know how to protect ourselves didnt mean we were gonna walk into such a situation.

So we keep walking, and I keep my eye on the person while pulling my keys out of my pocket to hold in one hand.

Then, they start walking towards us. Not down their sidewalk, not over and down to us, but full on straight line diagonally across the road towards us so there was no mistake they had their sights on us.

We can see the garage and I tell my roommate to pick up the pace and hop the little metal barricades that were dividing the sidewalk from the garage.

The person starts running at us and I can finally make out through the fog that they have an afro,and weird loose clothing. We start running.

Once we reach the portion where the garage is open along the sidewalk except for the guard rail to prevent cars from cutting across the sidewalk we jump it and run for my car which was naturally the only one there. We could hear the persons shoes echo as they entered the garage.

I held up my keys and unlocked my car, my roommate telling at me to run faster.

Somehow we made it to my car, somehow I didnt drop my keys like some cliche, somehow we got into my car and had the doors locked as this fucking crazy clown slams into the passenger side door. I backed out of my spot in record time and hauled ass to the entrance where I was able to pay and raise the little barricade before clown asshat caught up.

As we drove away we saw him walk into the middle of the road and stare after my car before the fog hid him from view. We freaked out for the first hour and then my roommate fell asleep. I was checking my mirrors every 2 minutes.

Okay so might not be scary per-say but I thought it was bizarre and kind of creepy. It was probably just a very odd coincidence, but let me tell you it was one hell of a coincidence. So I should probably start with a little background.

I didn’t start going to concerts until in college which is really weird because I’ve always been obsessed with music.

I love all genres and really don’t have any bands that I outright hate. But then again back in high school I was very bad around crowds.

Anyways, I’ve been to so many concerts that I’ve lost track of the number.

Most of them were metal concerts and nothing strange has every really happened, the most I ever expected was to get a black eye from a mosh pit or something. Which is saying something being as I attended a Black Metal concert on Friday the 13th. If there was any concert I thought would have been cursed or something,

it would have been that one. But enough backstory.

My story takes place in the summer, I think it was June. For the sake of privacy, I won’t mention the festival name being as it has my town’s name and I’m kinda paranoid like that. But it was an open air event.

At this venue there were two stages; the main stage for the well-known bands and the second stage for the lesser known. The main stage had a large pit for general admission and was surrounded by bleachers that were stories high.

On the stage itself were two screens on either side so the people in the back and in the bleachers could see.

These are two crucial details. Usually I got to concerts with my dad since I am a very short girl and my dad is much bigger, he usually handles the crowd for me.

This time I went with my younger sister.

Now this was a three-day festival, so my sister and I were planning for a pretty kickass few days full of nothing but headbanging and cheering. The first half of the day was very normal, I saw one of the openers, I forget which band it was, and tried crowd surfing for the first time—this was at the second stage.

After that my sister and I decided to go see the main bands and we managed to worm our way up to the front, again, we’re very small so this was pretty easy.

I knew most of the bands that played throughout the day. The highlight of my day being when the drummer of Hollywood Undead tossed his drumstick into the crowd and I caught it.

This is around the time when things took a turn for the weird, and I didn’t even know it. In between sets, on those two screens I mentioned earlier, the hosts of the venue displayed people’s Instagram pictures and tweets about their experiences.

My sister taps me on the shoulder, laughing, and says, “hey that guy kinda looks like you.” I look at the screen and there’s this dude who has the same haircut and dye job as me. He was also around the same height. Basically, this guy is how I would look if I were a man.

Throughout the day I was mistaken for this guy on various occasions.

Anyways, night rolls around and I’m having the time of my life. Everything remained very normal. Rammstein is playing and they have their usual fire show going on.

My sister and I decide to leave a bit early though so we could beat the traffic and wake up on time for day two. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.

We get back to the hotel, watch a scary movie, and go to bed. The next day we find out via word of the mouth that someone died the night before, after we left.

I don’t know exactly what happened—maybe the guy was drunk, maybe the crowd got too wild and he was pushed—whatever the situation was, a guy had fallen off of one of the uppermost bleachers.

I didn’t think anything of it until I saw a picture of male me on the article about the incident. The rest of the festival went as every other concert I’ve ever been to did. But it set a weird mood for the rest of the festival, knowing that someone who looked so much like me died at a concert I was attending.

It also kind of made me wonder what would have happened if I stayed for the whole show.